


Every Move, All Wrong

by natlet



Category: due South
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-11-21
Updated: 2006-11-21
Packaged: 2017-10-03 01:49:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/natlet/pseuds/natlet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vecchio can't quite get it together. Fraser doesn't help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Move, All Wrong

Him and Stella are on the outs and he's living on the top floor of the Fairmont in Aventura, racking up an unholy bill at three or four hundred bucks a night - he's not sure, he doesn't care any more. Everything seems fake to him, fake and empty and plastic as shit because first he lost Benny and then Stella, Stella, god, he really thought he was making the right choice there. He really started thinking he had it made, because they fit, him and Stella. The night guy at the front desk started calling him Ray instead of Mr. Vecchio a couple days ago, and sometimes he brings him a sandwich, but even "Thank you" feels like it's wrapped up in cardboard and he can barely force a smile.

It's night, Monday or something, and he's just laying there in his underwear, flipping through infomercials, when there's a knock at his door. For about a minute he's pissed off, really pissed off, because he's made it clear, explicitly clear, crystal fucking clear that he was not to be bothered. There were to be no calls, no visitors, no room service, no housekeepers. And nobody knew where he was, not even Stella, fucking least of all Stella, so there should've been no issue, but. Fuck. And he's pissed off enough that he gets up off the couch (Christ, you haven't done that in eight or ten hours, his father hisses in his ear) and goes to the door and flings it open and there's nobody there.

There's nobody fucking there. He stands in the door frame for a second, leaning on the knob like he still wants to give someone a piece of his mind, foot asleep from laying on it, blinking in the light of the hallway. Pokes his head out, peers left, peers right. The hallway's clear save for a bellhop with a plunger waiting by the elevator. It dings when it reaches the floor, and the kid tries to hide the plunger behind his leg as Ray looks at him. "Coulda sworn," he muttered, shaking his head, pulling back.

Then he stops, because that looked like a flash of - couldn't be, though - but he stops, door not quite closed, and after a second he sticks his head back into the hallway.

The elevator's already swallowed up the bellhop and carted him away to another floor and there's Benny standing large as life in the middle of the hallway and he says "Ray" in this real small voice and Ray isn't sure for a second if he actually reaches out toward the Mountie, or it just feels like it.

But Fraser's coming toward him, moving dream-slow down the hallway. Ray's eyes fix on the carpet, try to judge the distance, blur on the pattern and Fraser is warm and solid and pushing him back. He hears the door click shut and he's wrapped in red serge and Fraser's saying "Ray, Ray, oh Ray," and none of it matters any more cause he's home.

After what seems like a really, really long time, Fraser lets him pull back and take a good look. Ray resists the urge to pinch his cheeks. "What're you doing here?" he asks, the edges of his vision going fuzzy like he just ran too far. "You're supposed to be in Canada, it's so damn hot here." His hands are running up and down Fraser's biceps and Fraser's holding tight to his shoulders and giving him that horizon-wide smile. "What're you doing here? How did you even find me?"

And Fraser's eyes go warm and soft like melted chocolate and he laughs and Ray kisses him, can't help it, crashes into him and stops the laughter in his throat.

-

He asks "Why'd you come back?" in the same breath Fraser uses to ask "Why'd you leave me?" and for a minute, they just stare at each other in silence.

"Hell of a question, Benny," Ray says, timing it just right so he flicks his eyes up to meet Fraser's a second after realizes that maybe wasn't a fair thing to ask. They're on the couch, Fraser on his back, Ray draped half over him so he doesn't fall. Fraser looks guilty and sorry enough that Ray just lays his head down and slides his hand back up to where it'd been resting, fingertips lined up two-three-four along Fraser's jaw. "What're you doing here?" he asks again, because from what he can remember he never got an answer the first time he asked, two or three hours ago now. His voice is low, almost a whisper, and he trails his thumb along Fraser's skin to his chin.

"Seeing you, Ray," he answers, sounding a little confused.

"No, I mean..." Ray's fingers twitch against Fraser's face, building up nervous frustration. The hand tracing circles and patterns on his back slows, stops. "I thought... I mean, Kowalski, and your sled thing or whatever, I thought it was going to... be a while, you know?" He thinks he should stop talking. He thinks maybe he should have stopped a little bit sooner, and is just noticing it now. "It's just, I thought he... I mean, you..." He trails off. Fraser's gone stiff and unresponsive under him. The rise and fall of his chest would be unnoticeable if it wasn't so rapid. "I'm sorry," he whispers. "I guess I was wrong."

"I suppose you were," Fraser says, and his voice is dark and cloaked.

"Never mind, okay?" Ray murmurs. He pats Benny's chest, nice and slow, feels his breathing slow with the touches. "How's the snow? All still there?"

"Yes," Fraser says. He sounds sharp, cold, like he's still up there somewhere, but Ray feels like maybe it isn't entirely his fault.

-

"He hated it," Fraser says suddenly.

The words are too loud in the room's gray dawn and they jerk Ray up, out of his light sleep. He can't sleep right any more, can never quite let himself slide all the way. Feels like he's always got to keep some part of him paying attention, staying ready, just in case. The Mountie's voice is raw and it drags him awake by the throat. "Tell me," he murmurs, pressing hard against his chest. Fraser's arm around his shoulder tightens; Ray can feel his bicep twitching against his shoulder blades.

"He hated it, he hated every second of it, and after a while he started hating me for... for bringing him up there, for being happy there, I don't know, I couldn't... and he didn't say anything for so long, if he had just told me, I..." Ray can feel him shaking his head as he goes silent for a minute. "The only thing he did tell me was that I had ruined everything for him," he chokes. "Though not in so many words."

That's it, Ray's thinking, this is it, the part where I can't do anything and everything can go either way any moment. He can't think of anything to say, so he just snakes his arm over Fraser's ribcage, curving his fingers around his belt.

"He blamed everything on me," Fraser moans. His breath is hot, moist against Vecchio's scalp. "He thought I was doing it on purpose. He didn't... and all I ever wanted was..."

Ray doesn't know if he's stopped talking because he doesn't want to say any more, or because he can't. Fraser's hand is fisting slow and regular in the back of the t-shirt Ray'd tugged on. He arches a little, feels Fraser's fingers spread across his back. "Ah, Fraser," he breathes. "Benny," and Fraser's arms are going steely around him and he's holding Ray tight. Too tight. "I can't breathe, Benny," he says, laughing a little, but Fraser's not laughing, and he's not letting go either.

Ray squirms until he can see Fraser's face, because it's not like it was years ago when he could touch Fraser without thinking about it, and reaches, brushes his fingers over Fraser's lips like he doesn't know what's going to happen. Warm tongue around his skin and damn that boy's oral fixation, he's starting to gasp already.

Too much, and he jerks back, whispering "married, Benny, I'm married, I'm sorry," pressing his head hard into Fraser's shoulder like it's going to make it better. Fraser just laughs quietly, like he's a little bit sad, and tips his head away, the stubble on his chin brushing against Ray's skin, until Ray knows he's looking at the ceiling.

-

Fraser's asleep and Ray's stomach is telling him it's time to order room service, but he's thinking Chinese, salt and soy and duck sauce, so he brushes his teeth and pulls on his jeans and hits the streets. It's midday and around him the streets are packed and sluggish with post-lunch carbohydrate overload. Women in smart suits trail in ragged groups down the sidewalk, and the taxis idle, but still honk at each other.

He stops at a Chinese takeout place near the beach and puts in an order, then takes the boardwalk over the dunes down to the sand. It's not quite the tourist season any more but it's a warm day and the locals are out in force. Looks to him like every teenager in the city has skipped school today to sun by the ocean. Girls in bikinis splash in the surf and shriek as they flirt with boys, and for a second all he can see is how he imagines Stella at that age, all elbows and silk blonde hair and impossible jawbones. And after a second he remembers she'd have Kowalski chasing after him, waving that torch he carries like it means the world owes him something, and he sighs and drops his chin against his chest. Why can't that guy just leave him alone?

On the way back to the hotel, he picks up his order at the Chinese place. In the hotel lobby, Ray asks the guy at the front desk if he likes egg rolls - he does - and if he can keep paying for the room. See, he tells him, I have this friend who might not have anywhere to go for a while. The kid tells him sure thing and calls him Sir and Ray hands over his credit card and signs on the line. Back on the sidewalk the sun leans heavy on his shoulders and he can't decide if he's going to call Stella or not but he heads for the beach, thinking about maybe sitting down and taking his shoes off for a while.

**Author's Note:**

> Love to Izzybeth for the eleventh-hour read-through.
> 
> Written for [Vecchiofest](http://community.livejournal.com/vecchiofest).  
> Song prompt:  
> _In an envelope, inside his coat  
> Is a chain I wore around my throat  
> Along with a note I wrote  
> Said "I love you but I don't even know why"_  
> -Patty Griffin, "Nobody's Crying"
> 
> Title from the same.


End file.
